June 4th, 2012

I know this isn't exactly a journal, just a sheet if computer paper, but I really need somewhere to write down my thoughts. Let me just say that my life is awful. If you're reading this, you're probably thinking that I'm just overreacting, but if you give me a moment to explain my life, you'll understand. I can't stay above a 70 in any of  my classes, not even gym. It's certainly not because I'm dumb, it's mostly because I'm dreadfully lazy. I'm just naturally unmotivated to do just about anything. However, grades aren't the worst of my problems. My biggest problem is my social awkwardness. I can't make eye contact with anyone without feeling like I'm creeping them out. I just respond with "yes" and "no" while pulling at my fingers and staring at the ground. The kids at school mock me for it, too. Apparently I'm a homosexual just because I hadn't banged 20 girls by the time I turned 15. I have no idea as to why they use homosexuality as an insult; I see nothing wrong with it. I've even had my own "curious" thoughts, but I'd never tell them that.

Anyway, my birthday was just two days ago. I had a pathetic birthday party at Bill Gray's with my dad, my dad's girlfriend, and their unborn fetus still inside of her. I did get a cracked iPod touch, so that's at least one plus. Speaking of my birthday, my peers at school decided to give me 15 birthday swirlies in the toilet. That wasn't the worst part; the toilet had crap in it. That still wasn't the worst part; one of the kids took that crap in the toilet, while the other two held me down and made me watch. AND THEY CALL ME THE GAY ONE?!?!?!? THEY'RE THE ONES MAKING MEN WATCH THEM TAKE A CRAP!!!!!!!!

I know, if I get too angry I'll have a heart attack or something, but then again, maybe I'm better off having one. The world doesn't need me anyway.

The complete worst of it all is the memory that has haunted me for a long time. This was the death of my mother, which I witnessed when I was eight.

One cold, winter morning of my childhood, I woke up with my bear, which a therapist had given to me for personality problems. That bear and I did everything together for as long as I could remember. When I walked downstairs, I saw my parents arguing rather viciously. In fear, I ran back upstairs and cried into my stuffed bear. My mom felt bad, and decided to take me out for ice cream early in the morning. So my mom, my bear, and I got in the car and set off.for ice cream early in the winter morning. As luck would have it, a drunk teen coming home from some all-night party was on the icy road. My mom started to make a turn, and the teen slid past a red light and smashed into the car by the drivers' seat. Immediately we flipped, and I lost the grip on my bear, and he flung out the window. We flipped a bit more, and came to a crashing halt into a tree. I fell backwards, and was pinned under some tires and a lot of rubble.

I opened my eyes, and looked out.

There was my mom, right next to my bear. She was screaming as flames consumed her body and I was forced to watch as she burned to ashes.

All because I wanted some stupid ice cream.

June 5th, 2012

Earlier today I found an old rope in my dad's closet. If I hook it up to my ceiling fan, it makes a perfect noose. I just need one more nudge, one more push, to convince me that I'm not needed, and I'll do it. I'll leave this universe. My molecules will belong to the bacteria and my thoughts of hatred will be lost forever. It's about 10PM now, I have to go to bed.

Well, that's it. 11:57PM on June 5th, 2012 and I'm calling it. I'm getting out of here. Tomorrow morning. Why? My dad came home drunk, and started beating his girlfriend. Her and the baby are now lying dead on the floor. I'm scared shitless to do anything about it in fear that he'll beat me up too, and I'd rather have my death be as quick and as painless as possible. I'd better hide out in my closet until tomorrow. Good... Bad Night. Next Chapter: Part 1: Go Ahead Estimated time remaining: 1 Hour, 25 Minutes